A Civilian Matter
by Thalius
Summary: Fred discovers how much he dislikes undercover operations - and all the preparation they require.


"You have to dye your hair if you're going undercover." This was the third time she'd said it, and her words had all the impact of talking to a bulkhead.

Lopis waved the small bottle of black hair dye at the Lieutenant in an attempt to persuade him, who looked all but cornered against his bunk.

"I don't believe I take orders from you," he replied, his voice betraying no emotion—his face, though, was twisted in clear distaste.

"But you take orders from _my_ boss, who has ordered _me_ to make you look as 'civilian' as possible." She grabbed the lone chair sitting under the desk in Blue Team's quarters and pulled it out for him to sit in. It was dangerous territory even being in such a private space, but Fred hadn't left her much choice.

"And since you can't run away now, you have to _sit,"_ she continued, pointing to the chair. "It won't take a minute."

Fred ran a hand through his hair. "Lots of people have gray streaks," he argued. "There's nothing wrong with my hair."

"No, there isn't, but you need every aid at your disposal to help you blend in. _Sit."_ She smacked the back of the chair, and his shoulders slumped with a controlled sigh.

 _Victory._

"So is this your job now?" he asked as he walked over and sat down. His looked up at her through the corner of his eye, not daring to turn his full back to her. "Dying people's hair?"

"I'm what Osman calls a 'social coordinator' for Spartans. I help integrate you into civilian roles when it's required."

"So you dye people's hair," Fred continued, frowning at the towel she placed on his shoulders. He wasn't giving up without a lot of fight and undue whining, it seemed

"And buy them clothes and teach them how to make small talk, yes." She slipped the clear latex gloves on that were from inside the package and twisted open the jar of UNSC-regulated hair dye. "My ferrets love the challenge, actually, and you should give it a chance." Not initially they didn't, but they grew into the role quick enough, and now they even liked teasing one another over who could sound the most like a civvie. She smiled to herself as she squirted dye into her palm.

Fred relaxed marginally when she mentioned them. She wasn't cleared to discuss their status directly, but no one knew their identity besides Blue Team anyway. "They're doing well, then."

"I'm afraid that's classified, Lieutenant."

Instead of replying, he blew a hard breath out of his nose and stuck to sulking in the chair. How a Spartan managed to sulk was beyond her, but then he'd never been subjected to anything so domestic as a home dye-job. She supposed that if war and death and injury weren't his breaking points, civilian living must be a real challenge.

Veta pressed an experimental palm to his head, her touch intentionally gentle. He froze instantly, as she expected, his shoulders going rigged, but thankfully he didn't jump out of the seat. "Good?" she asked, putting the hand with dye on his head and mixing it into his short hair when she was sure he wouldn't throw her to the deck.

"Not even remotely," he muttered.

"I'm glad to hear it."

Fred resigned himself to frigid compliance while she worked the dye into his hair, and she didn't bother to make further conversation with him. Although the dye didn't have a great odour, it was relaxing to massage her hands over his head, the dye foaming and squishing pleasantly under her fingers.

For the lieutenant's part, he slowly began to relax, not quite so uptight about having another human being in his personal bubble. She wanted to tell him she understood, probably better than a lot of people, but she didn't think he'd take the comment well.

Eventually Fred's head went lax on his neck, moving with her fingers, and she thought his eyes might be closed, but couldn't tell from his angle. Lopis wiped away a few stray drops of black dye than were running down his temples, and then tapped him on the shoulder.

"All done, Lieutenant."

He immediately sat up and looked at her from his sharp profile again, and she still couldn't tell if he'd been dozing off or not. "How long do I leave it in?"

"The box says twenty minutes," she said, pulling off the dirty gloves and glancing at the dye kit.

" _Twenty?"_ He reached up to touch his head and she waved his hand away.

"No touching, or you'll get it all over your fingers. And yes, twenty minutes. Read a book or watch a vid until then."

"I was scheduled for training sims this morning by the captain," he said back, as if that was an argument.

"And Osman decided you were the best choice out of Blue Team to lead an undercover investigation with my team _after_ you got those orders, so this takes precedence." Veta grabbed the box from the desk and pulled out a small capsule. "If you want, you can wear this shower cap and run a War Games session. It's not really waterproof, but it might stop some of the dye from getting on your helmet."

Fred gave her a dark look that clearly told her that her jokes were _not_ funny or appreciated, thank you very much. "Fine," he ground out and stood up, picking at the towel still around his shoulders. "Do I just wash it out after?"

She nodded. "Rinse it and then use soap, and make sure to wipe off any extra dye on your skin, otherwise it might stain."

He nodded and leaned against the desk, looking around the room. "Alright. I'll let you know when I'm finished."

That was her cue to leave. She collected the dye kit and shoved everything back into the box.

"Good," Veta said with amusement, and Fred instantly looked suspicious again. "We can do your eyebrows next."

She realised why Spartan helmets had polarised visors now—the glares they gave people could cut steel.


End file.
